


The Sister City Program

by Otoshigo



Series: USUK - Oneshots [9]
Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Capitals!AU, M/M, None of the characters are in their traditional roles, USUK - Freeform, yes I am a washingtonian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5696647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otoshigo/pseuds/Otoshigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Capitals!AU. If Alfred and Arthur were representatives of their capitals instead of their countries. No OC characters actually shown. (I'm sure you'll figure out who's who.) USUK - POV Twoshot</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m going with you?” Wash stuttered.

He never stuttered.  He, the embodiment of Washington, District of Columbia, was one of the smoothest talkers in the country.  (Even if he did get a lot of his speeches written out for him.)  Still being invited to go _outside_ the borders of the United States of America just didn’t happen.  _Ever_.  He was under the impression that was what USA’s job was.

“What, you don’t want to come?” USA asked, furrowing his brow as he popped a vegan donut hole in his sugar-powdered mouth.  (Not that Wash was judging or anything... okay, he was totally judging.  Supreme Court and all that.  But seriously, vegan donuts?  _Yuck._ )  Misinterpreting Wash’s stunned expression, he mused, “Well, I suppose I could always ask Ames1...”

 _“Don’taskherI’mgoing,”_ Wash snapped out quickly, feeling that familiar rivalry twinge.  He always got a bit touchy when New York was mentioned.  “I just... why am I going with you exactly?  Isn’t all the ‘outside’ stuff your job?”

USA slumped back in his office chair, looking even more like a lumpy potato than usual, particularly with his dark tanned skin and dirt colored bomber jacket.  “The nations are doing some kind of sister city program where all the capitals are doing a meet and greet,” his country replied with a wave of his hand.  “Apparently, they do it in Europe all the time.  Efficiency thing.  Germany’s idea probably.  _Anyway~_ I made it clear that they shouldn’t be excluding _me_ of all nations and put my foot down.”  The smug smile that followed was a little worrisome.

Wash let out a sigh.  He had never seen his country in action, but from what he heard from Al2 when all the nations gathered at his place for the olympics... well...  Apparently, USA was espousing some grand plan about building a giant robot to combat global warming and tried to strong arm all the other nations into agreeing with him.  Japan was the only one who gave the idea any credence, but he suspected that Japan was just looking for an excuse to build a mecha.

Knowing USA a little too intimately himself, seeing as he was basically under his thumb in every way shape or form, Wash didn’t see this as much of a stretch.

Then a thought occurred to him.  “Will London be there?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

“Definitely,” USA nodded, slurping some coke to wash down the donuts.  “Toldja, everyone’s going to be there.  Paris, Sydney, Bombay-”

“New Delhi.”

“ _Whatever,_ ” the country replied irritably.  He continued to attempt to list off more capitals, invariably getting them mixed up, but Wash’s mind was suddenly a million miles away.

Or rather 3,662.

~o~

Only to discover rather unpleasantly that they were only going to be going the 224.8 miles to UN HQ at his sister’s place.  To say that Wash’s mood was sour was an understatement as they took the short flight from Reagan to JFK for the evening event.  His mood did not improve when Ames greeted them on the tarmac.

“Oh, hello, baby brother~!” she cried cheerfully, as bright as the lights in Times Square.  He was quickly wrapped up in an unwelcome hug perfumed with exotic spices and a faint rot that reminded him of fugly French cheese.  Wash tried to extract himself as quickly as possible.  “Did you have a nice wil’ nap on the pwane, hmm~?”

“For the love of- I’m almost 230!” he cried.  It was unbearably young next to Ames’s near 400, but he wasn’t _that_ much younger than USA for pete’s sake.  “Will you let me go, you _stink._ ”

“Come on you two.  Get along,” USA grinned, looking perfectly amused by their sibling bickering.  Finally released, Wash smoothed out his suit and leveled his older sister a dark glare.  “Let’s get it on.  Don’t want you to be late.”  He carelessly clapped a hard hand on Wash’s shoulder - once again forgetting that the Pentagon was in _Virginia_ \- and near knocking him onto his face.  Wash caught himself just in time, but followed USA to the towncar with a blindingly aching shoulder.

It dulled down to a thrumming sore by the time they neared the retro looking UN building.  As it began to tower over them, an unexpected bout of nerves coiled in the pit of Wash’s stomach. 

See, Wash wasn’t exactly the most popular city among his siblings.  Most of them thought he was grossly incompetent with a major superiority complex.  (Even if he was the fittest city of _all_ of them and was stunningly handsome if he said so himself.  Particularly in spring.)  And they always thought it was pretentious that he introduced himself as Washington, District of Columbia - _even though_ if he _didn’t_ everyone would confuse him for the state.

They also had some terrible misconceptions about how much power he actually wielded.  It wasn’t as though he _liked_ getting his hill invaded by their bosses and get raging migraines whenever something particularly scandalous was going on in the supreme court.  And on top of that, all _their_ bosses were in charge of whether or not he even got his trash picked up every week.

Forget even being cozy with the head honcho.  USA had dibs on anything POTUS-related.

And he didn’t even get a vote!  _Him._   Alone out of all his siblings.  It was ridiculous!

It wasn’t so much that he was incompetent as he was impotent.  Which honestly was kind of worse.

The introspection did not make his impending encounter with the other capitals any less daunting.  What if they saw right through him?  Right past his shiny marble facades to all the insecurities that kept him up at night.  What if they laughed at how useless he really was?

“We’re here,” USA said, hopping out of the car as they pulled up.  Wash followed with far less enthusiasm.  Many of the other nations and their capitals were already present, cliquing up to those who they were far more familiar with.  It seemed like USA was doing just the same as he made a beeline for his own brother.  “Canadia!  Whazzup man!”

The pony-tailed blond grinned, slugging USA with a hard hit to his shoulder.  They began to have a mini-scrap of their own, as Wash’s attention drew to Canada’s companion.  He gave a small start when he realized that the blond was nearly identical to him, from his hair, to his face, to his build.  Hell, they both even wore glasses.  However, Wash recovered quickly enough and gave the capital a bright smile.  “Hi there, I’m Washington, District of Columbia.  Wash, for short.  And you are... Toronto?”

“Ottawa,” the city corrected, giving him a shy smile.  “You can call me Otto.  Is this your first time meeting the other capitals?”

“Ah, yeah!  I mean, I don’t really get out much.  Don’t need to,” Wash replied, feeling a little better that he’d run into someone so congenial.  “You?”

“I’ve met the other Commonwealth capitals a couple times,” Otto? _Onto?_ answered, “Bit of like a pseudo-family reunion.”

Commonwealth capitals?

“Oh... Does that mean you’ve run into London before?” Wash asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

“Oh yes!” the other capital replied with quiet enthusiasm.  “We’ve met before.  He’s right over there, see?”

Wash turned in the direction indicated.  His throat went dry as he spied the face he’d only seen oh-so-recently on television during the jubilee and the summer olympics.  Sharp green eyes, refined features, the sex messed choppy hair.  Even his heavy eyebrows were endearing.  He looked particularly reserved next to UK, who was radiating bubbly eccentricity and passing out cupcakes to anyone who’d take them.  Few did.  Everyone knew that British cakes were to die for.

“Want me to introduce you?” Onto asked, drawing Wash’s attention briefly back to him.

_Yes, yes, yes!_

But before Wash could say a word, USA was apparently done bro-bashing Canada and had come over to hijack the conversation.  “Hey Wash!  You done flirting with Toronto!” he exclaimed, loudly enough to draw half the room’s attention.  Including, mortifyingly, London who glanced in their direction.

Wash wanted to crawl down into a deep dark hole and never see the light of day again.

Toronto looked similarly flustered.  “I’m Ottawa,” Onto protested, though he could hardly be heard over USA’s booming- _Come on, let’s go see Japan!_   Wash scarcely had a minute to wave goodbye to his new friend before he was dragged off in a flurry of introductions.

After a while, the embarrassment ebbed as Wash’s natural networking mind took over.  More and more nations and their capitals arrived, providing a much needed distraction as he engaged in small talk.  Wash was even kind of grateful that USA had taken to hovering protectively over him and that he’d not wandered off alone to talk to London just then.

The nations were... _intense._   And probably more than a little unhinged.  Wash didn’t know if that was just the nature of nations or if it was because they were all gathered together, but it was taking all his slick lobbying moves to keep the mood light.  Particularly when some nations like China or Russia eyed him with creepily hungry looks.  Even USA, who Wash had only seen as a doofy teddy bear, seemed to catch the dark, competitive edge in his aura and was making it doubly hard for Wash not to simply go mum from intimidation.

Wash much preferred the company of the other capitals.  His fears of them seeing through to his insecurities quickly washed away, when he realized that they were pretty much all in the same boat.  No one else understood better what it was like to be so tied up with their nation and how _lonely_ it could be, especially amongst their siblings.  It never even needed to be said.  A silent understanding.  It was _liberating._   He even found an unlikely compatriot in Ankara as the pair of them bitched about New York and Istanbul respectively.

However, he never did work up the nerve to go and talk to London by the time the reception drew to a close.  USA tapped Wash on the shoulder, throwing a thumb towards the door.  “C’mon, we’re heading out now.  You’ve got plenty of time to talk to everyone tomorrow when we big bosses go have our meeting.”

Slightly disappointed, Wash nonetheless nodded and followed USA out to the car.  Ames was waiting, naturally, a wide grin on her face.  “So~ how did baby bro do?” she asked as they climbed into the back.

“Not too bad,” USA replied, looking quite pleased.  “Looks like I don’t need to swap the pair of you out for tomorrow.”

... _Wait a minute._

Ames pouted, before she shrugged it off.  “Fine, I suppose Wash should have his day once in awhile~” she said, as though she were indulging a puppy.  Then she perked up, “Oh!  Bossman, I have an amazing restaurant picked out for us tonight.  It’s supposed to be this hot new molecular gastronomic vegan place.”

“Nice!” USA crowed.

Wash briefly wondered if the food was even edible.  Then again, it was probably bound to be absolutely delicious. (As usual. _Damn it._ )

Which _did_ give him an idea.  “Ames, what is your nicest restaurant?”

His older sister gave him a Look.  “What?  Are you sure you can afford it?” she asked sardonically.  “Aren’t you on some ridiculously tight budget now?”

Wash reddened.  “I’m _fine,_ ” he said, even though he wasn’t.  “I just thought... since we’re all here and this is a good opportunity... that I should try to build relations by taking one of the capitals out to dinner.”

Ames gave him another Look, this one distinctly more mischievous and teasing than the first.  However, USA looked particularly concerned as he frowned at him.  “Who?” he demanded.

“...London,” Wash replied with forced lightness.

Ames and USA looked at him, then looked to each other.

Then immediately broke out into laughter.

“ _What?_ ” Wash demanded, his hackles rising as they laughed at his expense.

“Oh, that is so cute!” Ames guffawed, pinching her brother’s cheek.  “Our wil’ Wishy-Washy has a cwush~!”  Wash batted her hand away, cheeks flaming.  “And a Brit too.  Jeez, how predictable.  But he’s sooo out of your league.”

“Oh stop teasing him with the baby talk,” USA chided, still chuckling as he wiped a tear from his eye.  “Man, I’m just relieved you didn’t say Moscow or something.  You’re liable to get kidnapped.”

“Or be razed to the ground,” Ames added unhelpfully.

“That happened _one time!_ ” Wash cried.

“Or Berlin.  I mean, that guy is bipolar to the extreme,” USA went on, completely ignoring his capital.  “But Ames is totally right.  London’s way out of your league.”

All the righteous indignation snuffed out like a light.  “Wha-what?  But why?” Wash asked, a nasty sick feeling rising up his pipe.

“Oh _honey,_ ” Ames said in that nastily patronizing way.  “London’s just one of those cities that has it _all_ going on.  Money, power, culture, influence, _history_.  I mean, UK damn near got spliced because people said London had _too_ much power.”

“Well, UK has always been a bit loopy,” USA admitted.  “Although I don’t think that whole Scotland thing helped.”

“Well anyway,” his sister continued, “point is, no offense Wishy-Washy, you’re a bit of a hot mess by comparison.  You’re so indecisive, you push everything until the very last minute, you have no follow-through on all your talk _and_ you’re kinda boring.  I mean, do you have _any_ good night clubs?  And the guy’s _ancient._   Like First Century.  You’re basically a _baby_.”

No offense, his _ass_.

“Ames, don’t be too hard on your little brother,” USA chided more sternly now.  “Just because he’s a bit overshadowed by your popularity doesn’t mean he has no redeeming qualities.  Jeez, I expected the pair of you to be as thick as thieves since ‘01.”

Ames went very quiet.  So did Wash.  “There’s no need to bring that up,” he said in a subdued voice.  “Ames was just being obnoxious.  It’s what she does.”  He felt a smaller hand take his, giving it a grateful squeeze.

USA seemed to take this in and simply nodded.  Turning his attention back to the previous conversation, he said, “Well, Wash, if you _really_ want to ask London out, it’s okay.  You have my blessing.  Even though UK’s a bit of a nutbag.  Like for realz full on personality disorder.”

“Just don’t expect much to come from it,” Ames muttered.

Wash didn’t reply, but thankfully no one expected him to.  By the time they arrived at the restaurant, his sister was back to her old self and was talking up a storm with USA.  Wash merely prodded at his seaweed foam soup, lost in thought for the rest of the night.

~o~

The next day, as promised, the capitals were left to their own devices in a separate room as the nations went off to their usual World Meeting.  Most of the capitals took the opportunity to get some work done, pulling out laptops or smartphones to tend to things on the homefront.

Since it was August, Wash didn’t have all that much to do, truth be told.  Every year, like clockwork, he reverted to his swamp-like tendencies and Congress got the hell out of Dodge.  (Or the District, as it were.)  He answered a few emails on his blackberry, but quickly grew bored.  Now, his attention didn’t have much choice but to draw towards the object that had slowly been occupying more and more of his daydreams.

Once again, his mouth went a little dry.  Apparently, the allure was not diminished without the dim lighting of a ballroom reception.  In the light of day, London’s green eyes and blond hair looked even brighter, shining like gold and emerald.  He also looked pretty flippin’ sharp in his bespoke three-piece suit, making Wash feel just a bit shabby in comparison.  London chatted away with whom Wash could only assume was Paris, though he was starting to look a bit annoyed at the other city’s overly romantic gestures.

Wash wondered, if, perhaps, _maybe_ , he ought to go over there and try to help him out?  Maybe?

_Maybe Ames had a point about the indecisiveness._

“Hi again,” a voice called to his left, drawing Wash’s attention up to see his near mirror reflection.

“Oh, hi... Onto,” Wash greeted, trying not to flub the name.

“Otto,” Otto corrected, giving him a small smile.  “Mind if I sit?”  Wash merely shrugged, so he settled and continued.  “You looked a bit bored.  Not much going on?”

“Yeah, Congress pretty much evacuates in August,” Wash replied.

“Kind of like Rome, eh?” Otto said cheerfully.  “Everyone there left to head to the beach for the month.”

Wash slowly glanced over in Rome’s direction.  The guy was draped over his table in a siesta, a snot bubble working itself in and out one nostril as he snored.  “Uhhh, suuure,” Wash grimaced.  “What about you?”

“Besieged by tourists,” Otto replied sheepishly.  “They’ve sort of invaded Parliament Hill.”  At Wash’s puzzled look, he smiled and brought out his phone.  “This is it.”

What he showed Wash was essentially a series of ridiculously ornate stone cathedrals of government.

“Daamn,” he whistled.  “That’s some tight neo-gothic shit.”

“It’s alright,” Otto smiled shyly.  “I like your architecture as well.  It’s modeled after ancient Rome, right?”

 _“Excusez-moi,”_ a voice interrupted, bringing both their gazes up as a smog of cologne enveloped them.  “I believe that Monsieur Washington is modeled after _moi._ ”

Paris.  The man was oozing a scandalous amount of cheese, not at all helped by his mind-numbing perfume.  Instead of France’s cig, he carried a rose between his fingers, brandishing it like a baton.  Moreover, he was smiling at Wash to the point of gloating.  “Ah, I so ‘ad ‘oped to talk to you _mon petit_ Washington.  To ‘ave been modeled after _moi_ is such an _‘onneur._   Why, per’aps I should consider you as _mon fils_.”

“Uhhh...” Wash replied intelligently.  Not that he couldn’t understand the words.  He just couldn’t comprehend them.

“Paris, stop it.  You’re frightening the lad,” another voice interrupted.

Wash turned and with a start, he realized that London had strode up to them, idling somewhat behind Paris.  He’d never heard the Brit’s voice before, but it was _so much better_ than whatever his imagination had come up with.  His face went through a strange metamorphosis of white to red to white again, mouth agape as he tried to squeak out something to say.

“Is ‘e always like this?” Paris asked Otto, gesturing at the American with his rose.

The Canadian was giving Wash a very peculiar look himself, his eyes flicking over to London with suspicion.  “I’m not sure,” he admitted.  “He was doing fine until you two showed.”  There was an odd abrasiveness to his voice as he addressed Paris, which helped to draw Wash out of it.

Paris, however, ignored it.  “We could not ‘elp our _curiosité_.  After all, the pair of you looks so _alike._  You could be twins.  Do you not think so, Londres?”

“Quite remarkable,” London agreed with a small nod, his green eyes passing over the pair of them.  Some odd whirl of emotions clutched Wash’s chest, a little bit of happiness that he was noticed but also a strong dab of annoyance it was only because he looked like someone _else._   He was about to say something about it, when London smiled and his mind completely blanked.  “You’re quite lucky.  You seem to be getting on well and your nations are close.  I’m sure that you could forge a true sister-city partnership, as was intended with this entire venture.”

Otto and Wash glanced at each other, before breaking into twin smiles.  “What about you?” Wash asked, finally finding his voice as he looked to London and Paris.  “You seem close...?” he added, trying not to sound too interested.

“Only because we have been at each other’s throats for so long,” London replied, folding his arms over his chest as the gave Paris a sharp look. 

“Ah, Londres, _tu m’aimes_ ,” Paris said sweetly.

“You’re right.  I do enjoy maiming you,” London responded dryly.  That was when he turned to Otto.  “I wonder if we could borrow you for an hour or so.  I would like to get all the Commonwealth together to chat on a few items.  Before we have our EU meeting.  Are you free?”

“What?  Oh, of course,” Otto replied, popping up to his feet.  “I’ll talk to you later Wash.”

“Mm, sure,” Wash replied, disappointed he was losing the pair of them in one blow.  He waved them off as they went to a separate room and turned back to his blackberry.  Then he realized that Paris was still looming over him with a wide smirk.  “....Can I help you?”

“Oh, I simply wanted to speak with you,” Paris replied, stealing Otto’s seat and coming uncomfortably close to him.  Like, inside the Beltway close.  “Let me ‘ave a look at you.  _Je suis curieuse_.”

“W-wait a minute,” Wash started, a chill running up his spine.  He stayed stock still, hoping that USA didn’t sense how alarmed he was and didn’t have some kind of freak out.  Then again, part of him kind of wanted ‘Daddy’ to barge in at this very second.

But USA didn’t show and after a moment of studying, Paris pulled back as well.  “Not the most beautiful of cities, but you do ‘ave a certain... shall we say _charme?_ ”  He smiled lecherously, leaning in closer again.  “Per’aps you would be interested in another partnership that is not so, ah, _sisterly?_ ”

“Didn’t you say I was like your son a minute ago?!” Wash squeaked, quickly backing up.

However, Paris only grabbed the arm of his chair and rolled him back towards him.  “Ah, but that is the romance of it.  _L’amour interdit._   That taste, that _spice_ of the forbidden.  A dark taboo enacted under the secrecy of night,” he purred, straddling Wash until he was pressed into the leather.  “ _Now,_ let’s ‘ave a closer look at that obelisk, _mon chou~”_

 _Finally_ , USA barged into the room, a whirlwind of righteous fury.  That stopped everyone dead, making them freeze up like meerkats.  “Who’s attacking my city?!” he howled, brandishing a _nail bat_.

A voice behind USA boomed.  “ _Do you go after my capital now, дворняжка?!”_

Then all hell broke loose.

~o~

 _After_ things finally calmed and WWIII was averted, the meetings that day were wisely postponed.  USA and Russia left from opposite sides of the room, while Germany berated France to get his house in order with the threat of stupefyingly kinky BDSM.  Anyone would be more than a little rattled and there was no doubt that Paris was going to be on his best behavior for the rest of the meetings.

For his part, Wash couldn’t be more exasperated.  “I’m _fine,_ ” he told USA for the umpteenth time.  “Honestly, he’s not that much worse than Nola3.”  Okay, that was _kind_ of a lie.  “You were totally overreacting.”

“The dude was about to assrape you and nobody was even stopping him!” USA snapped back.  He showed Wash into the car, slamming the door shut and making Wash wince.  “This is just flippin’ typical!  Everything I’ve done for everyone over the years and they don’t even give two shits about my own capital.  Tomorrow, you’re not talking to anyone.  You understand?  Not even Toronto, got it?”

 _Otto,_ Wash wanted to correct, but he didn’t dare.  When USA got like this, it was like trying to stifle a firestorm with a hand towel.  He only hoped USA calmed down after a night’s rest.  When they got to the hotel, he was escorted to the suite and put under heavily armed guard.  Then did a sweep of the suite for bugs just for good measure.  Wash wondered if he was getting a bit too used to these lock-downs and headed to the privacy of his room to shower and change.

 _Thank God, London didn’t see any of that,_ he thought.  It was the only good thing to come out of the whole affair.  To think he wanted to try to rescue London from Paris earlier.  He may as well have shot himself in the face à la Dick Cheney-style.

Sighing, Wash curled up under the covers and resolved himself to tomorrow’s vow of silence.

~o~

Which was immediately tested almost as soon as they arrived back at the UN.

UK and London were waiting for them outside of the building under the shelter of an umbrella, obviously wanting to talk.  London was as stunning as ever, though a little damp under the light morning shower.  Wash wondered how he could acknowledge him without talking, managing only a half-hearted wave.

UK did the talking for them.  “Good morning, you two!” he said brightly, a suspicious looking box in his hands.  “Wanted to catch you before you went in.  Mind?”

“What for?” USA asked a little grumpily, eyeing the box.  He hadn’t had his coffee yet, so it was hard to tell if he was still in a bad mood or just decaffeinated.

UK patted London on the back, who was looking terribly awkward.  “This one wanted a chat with your capital.  In private.”  Before USA could object, he opened the box revealing heaps of baked goods.  “Biscuit?” he asked with a smile and a tilt of his head.  “No quadrupeds or feathered friends harmed or violated in anyway.”

USA looked at London, then Wash, then at the cookies.  “...Fine,” he said curtly.  “But they’re staying in range of sight.”

“Bless~” UK said sweetly, taking USA by the arm.  “Come, let’s stand over here out of the rain.”  The pair whisked themselves away under the outcrop of roof to enjoy the sweets.  Leaving Wash with London.

Swallowing hard, Wash said, “So... you wanted to talk to me?”

London worried his lower lip, awkwardly toying with the handle of his umbrella.  He was obviously quite flustered and the tinge of pink on his cheeks was doing bad, _bad_ things to Wash’s heart.  “I... I just... wanted to apologize.  For yesterday,” London finally managed.

Wash blinked.

At his confusion, the Brit elaborated, “I heard about what happened.  I should not have been so thoughtless as to leave you alone with Paris.  I am the one that usually deals with him, so I know what he’s like.  However, most cities are completely unprepared for the likes of him...”

“Oh...” Wash intoned, both touched and kind of disappointed.  “Heard about that, huh?”  He sighed, “You know, London, that’s really not your fault.  I could have handled that better.  And I don’t think anyone expected USA to rush in with a... bat.”

“Even so...” London muttered, shifting awkwardly as he looked at his shoes.

There wasn’t much Wash could say to that.

They stood for an eternal, silent minute in the rain.

Finally, Wash managed, “You know... You could make it up to me?”

Those green eyes drew up again.  “How so?” London asked, earnest and sincere.  It _almost_ made Wash feel a bit bad, but...

“Treat me to dinner?” Wash suggested, giving the Brit a winning smile.  “My sis, Ames - New York, that is - she has a lot of really amazing restaurants.  It would be a shame if you went back without trying something.”

Rather than skepticism, relief washed over London’s features.  “Oh.  Yes, of course.  That sounds like an excellent idea.  I need to check with UK, but it should be alright.” _Oh crap, he forgot about USA._   Then London smiled and Wash completely forgot what he was thinking again.  “Of course, if I’m going out with you I think I should know what to call you.  I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”  He held out a hand.  “London.  Nice to meet you.”

“DC,” Wash blurted out, taking the hand.  (What, DC?  He never called himself that.  It sounded so _childish._   The hell was he thinking?)

“What an adorable nickname,” London said, obliterating all of Wash’s mental objections. “DC it is then.  What is your number? I'll message you after the meetings are over.”

Wash briefly wondered if he was violating national security, before he decided to just _screw_ _it_.  They exchanged their numbers just in time for USA and UK to wander back with an empty sweets box.  “All set?” UK asked brightly, turning to the lobby.  “Good.  London, come along now.  Time to get busy.”  The pair of them departed, heading to the meeting rooms.

“You aight?” USA asked, pulling Wash aside.

“He said yes to dinner,” Wash replied with the goofiest smile he'd ever worn on his face.  “I can go, right?  **_Right?_** ” he demanded, grabbing USA by the shoulders.

“Wait.  You sealed the deal?  You're going on a date?” USA asked, both eyebrows raising.

“Well, I don't know if it's a date so much as an apology dinner...” Wash started.

However, USA seemed to ignore that as he guffawed.  “Damn, Wash!  You actually came through!  Congrats!”  Wash had no idea _what_ UK put in those cookies, but he was eternally grateful.  “I totally win the bet with Ames!”

_Ah._

“Lot of money?” Wash asked dryly.

“ _Loads,_ ” USA grinned wickedly, rubbing his hands together.  “Oh, but that whole talking to London was an exception.  You're not talking to anyone else today.  Got it?”

“Sure,” Wash muttered.  Not that he was going to be focused on talking much anyway.  As they headed into HQ, his phone was already pulled out, violently texting Ames as he tried to figure out what to do for dinner.  _(“Oh_ he’s _paying?  Well, that changes things,” she’d snapchatted, grudgingly impressed.)_

Not to mention waiting for that text from a certain someone...

~o~

_Ames: Ok, place is called Masa._

_Ames: It’s almost impossible to get a rez, so u owe me BIG_

“Masa?” London had said as they met up at Columbus Circle.  “I’ve heard of it actually.  It’s quite famous.”

“Oh yeah?” Wash replied brightly, trying hard to mimic London’s reserved nature and stifle his woot of joy. He _so_ owed Ames one, for sure.

“Yes, it’s supposed to be one of the most expensive restaurants in the world.  It’s £300 minimum a seat.”

And just like that Wash’s brotherly gratitude plummeted into a pit of fiery outrage.

“Oh,” was all he could manage, his face going lobster red.  _What the_ hell _was Ames thinking?!_   A £600++ dinner?!  Was this deliberate sabotage?  It _had_ to be.  Wait, what was the exchange rate again?  Wasn’t it _more_ than that in dollars?!  What was she thinking, that this was a fundraising dinner?!

London studied the facade of the Time Warner Center in silent contemplation, whilst Wash was having his mental freakout.  After a pause, he said lightly, “Well, let’s try it.  Shall we go in?”

“W-wait, seriously?” Wash stuttered.  “Look, my sister picked the place.  We really don’t need to go.  I’m sure we could find some other nice restaurant.”

“No, it’s quite alright,” London replied with a shake of his head.  His feet were already taking him towards the entrance.  “I wouldn’t want to put your sibling out after she went to such trouble.”

“At least let me pay my own way,” Wash pressed, quickly following.  “This is a bit ridiculous for an apology dinner.”

There was a brief misstep to London’s motions, though Wash couldn’t see the other city’s expression from his back to know what caused it.  Then without looking back, the Brit replied, “I’m a man of my word.  I must insist I pay.  I am more than capable.”

“Well...” Wash floundered, still trying to think of some way to save himself from the worst impression ever.  “Then I’ll pay next time.  Anywhere you want to go.  At your place.”

That gave London pause, as he turned to look at his dinner companion in surprise.  A pleased smile came to his face that just about turned Wash into goo.  “Very well.  Shall we?”

Masa, it turned out, was a ridiculously exclusive sushi bar.  (No wonder.)  They were shown with the greatest of Japanese-style courtesy to their seats at the bar made of rare hinoki wood imported from Japan.  All the fish was imported from Japan too, flown in just for this place.  The style of dinner was a 20-25 course _omakase_ dinner.  Which in American meant, ‘shut up and eat it.’  There was even the option to make their meal _more_ expensive with a $150 supplement each of wagyu with truffles, which London agreed to without so much as a glance at Wash.  And then ordered some $200 bottle of sake on top of it.

As the mental dollar signs kept piling up in his head (it had been on his mind a lot lately), a hand suddenly brushed the top of his, making him nearly jump out of his chair.  London pulled his hand back quickly, making an apologetic gesture.  Then he said kindly, “Don’t worry about the bill.”

“Sorry,” Wash replied sheepishly, and then didn’t.

After that, the night passed more like a dream rather than a nightmare.  As expected, the sushi and the other unexpected warm complements were absolutely divine.  However, it was the company that Wash found more delightful by far.  London’s obvious pleasure at the food only seemed to enhance the flavor of his own. 

Not to mention, the Brit was a perfect gentleman the entire time.  Witty, charming and oh-so-polite.  He didn’t seem to mind that Wash was as young as he was.  Instead he regaled him with stories about what it was like to pass through the ages, from the Romans, to the Blitz, to the Clash.  _(“It is still a bit odd to call them_ ancient _Romans,” London jested, “It makes me feel a bit old.”)_  All of which Wash listened to with rapt attention.

 _Oh man, I’ve got it bad,_ he realized, crushed by disappointment as the dinner drew to a close.  It was so late at night it was probably already the next day and he was tired to the bone, but he was still reluctant to head back to the hotel.  Eventually, it was leave or be kicked out, so after another quick tussle over the bill (London paid) they grabbed their coats and headed out. 

Thankfully, Ames’s place was still kicking when they came out and they strolled slowly along the brightly lit avenue.

“I must apologize again,” London said as they walked.  “I cannot believe I took up nearly all the conversation.  It was inconsiderate of me.”

“Dude, stop,” Wash laughed.  “You just dropped, what, $1,500 for dinner?  I think you’re covered on faux pas for a while.”  _Plus he didn’t mind listening to his voice in the least,_ was something he was absolutely not going to say.

“Even so, you must think me a terrible dinner companion,” London fretted.  He was awfully good at the fretting bit.  “I’m sure that Ottawa is much less of a bore.”

Wash wasn’t sure what Ottawa had to do with this, but he said, “No, I liked listening to your stories.  Honest.  I haven’t been through a whole lot in comparison.  I mean, there was that one time when I was a kid that I was invaded by the... um.  Oh.”  Just like that a look of pain came to London’s face as Wash hastily tried to backtrack.  “No, no, no!  It’s okay!” he said, gesticulating wildly.  “I mean, no, it’s not okay.  But it’s just a ‘sweep it under the rug’ thing.  I promise.  No hard feelings.”  London, however, did not look convinced.

God, he was such a _moron!_

“I had a really, _really_ nice time tonight,” Wash insisted, holding his hands together as if he were praying.  “Can we please just forget I said anything?  I don’t want this to end on a bad note.”

After an eternity of silence as Wash waited for a response, the Brit finally spoke softly.  “If you’re sure...”

“I am,” Wash interjected fervently.

“Very well.  It would be ungentlemanly of me to make you uncomfortable,” London decided with a firm nod.

Despite his words, it was a bit difficult to carry on the conversation after that.  Instead they descended into a heavy silence.  Hands in his pockets, Wash gave up on overcoming the awkwardness.  Looking on ahead, he stole sidelong glances at London, wishing he was as good at honest conversation as he was at bullshitting small talk.

“This is me,” London said, suddenly stopping.  He turned, waiting, giving the American an expectant look.  Wash looked up and saw the **Plaza Hotel** emblazoned on the glass doors.  The only thing that occurred to him just then, was they somehow completely missed his own hotel.  Oops.

“Oh, hah!  That’s funny.  I’m right over there,” he said, pointing over to the Ritz.

“Oh...” London frowned, “...How convenient.”

Another terrible, awkward pause.

“S’pose I should get going...” Wash said reluctantly, turning back towards his hotel.  His stomach felt full of lead, not sure how he could possibly salvage this tomorrow.  By then it would probably be too late...

So he stopped. 

Took a long breath. 

And asked:

“Hey, you want to have lunch tomorrow?”

London looked properly startled.  “You want to- I mean, yes!” he said, more emphatically than Wash had ever seen him do.  “I would love to.”

“Good.  I’m buying,” Wash replied, a huge grin stretching over his features.  A spring of pure bliss rose up in him, wiping away all of the tension like melting snow.

“You better,” the Brit responded good naturedly.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  He turned to his hotel, before a thought seemed to come to him and he paused.  “DC, what’s your name?  The one you’re registered under.”

“Huh?  Oh, Alfred F. Jones.  Why?” Wash asked, cocking his head.

“No reason,” London replied with a mysterious smile before he turned away.  “Good night.”

“Night!” Wash called after.  He spun back towards his hotel, wearing a stupidly giddy smile.  It took all of his energy not to skip back to his hotel like a loon (or Rome).

~o~

The next morning, it became obvious why London wanted his name.

“Wash!  You got something!” USA bellowed outside his door.  The capital could only manage a grouchy snarl, still recovering from the late night.  “It’s from some dude named Arthur!”

A second later, the door flung open nearly smacking USA in the face.  “Where!” Wash demanded, looking around the suite for a parcel.

“What-the-what?” USA demanded, catching the door in the nick of time.  “Why’re you so excited?”

“It’s London.  It’s gotta be.  I mean _Arthur?_   Come _on_ ,” Wash replied, before spying a slim rectangular box on the wet bar along with a note.  Upon opening it, he confirmed it for sure.

_Dear Alfred,_

_Thank you for a lovely evening.  I wanted to give you a small token of gratitude for being such a gracious dinner companion._

_Having heard of these, they immediately reminded me of you.  A mix of French and American to make something infinitely better and unique.  I hope you enjoy them._

_Sincerely yours,  
Arthur_

_P.S. I love the name._

As Wash reread the note over and over, USA peered into the box.  Prying open the lid, he gave a unsatisfied sniff when he saw it was a dozen warm pastries.  “The hell are these?”

The capital positively beamed as he took a glance himself.  “Cronuts!” he declared triumphantly.

“...It’s not exactly flowers and chocolate, is it?” USA muttered, to which Wash immediately spluttered:

“Wh-no-it’s not _like that!_ ” 

_Yet._

“Hmph.  I guess not, seeing as you came home last night,” USA muttered, still studying the pastry hybrids.  Whilst Wash was still sputtering with indignation, the nation took one and immediately bit into it, grimacing all the while.

“Wha-hey!  That’s mine!” Wash cried, trying to snatch it from him.

However, USA impressively managed to swallow the whole thing down in two bites.  “What’s yours is mine,” he told Wash.  “‘sides, needed to make sure they weren’t poisoned.  Now, if you excuse me, I’m gonna go throw up,” he said, quickly heading to the bathroom to upchuck his unholy snack.

Wash didn’t bother pointing out how pointless it was to even eat one in the first place.

In the end, he only ended up eating one anyway.  (One had to stay the fittest city in the nation _somehow._ )  The rest he brought with him to the final day of meetings at the UN.  Trying to seek out London as soon as possible, he ended up running into Toronto first and offered him one.

“You seem to be in a good mood, eh?” Otto said as he slowly nibbled his cronut.

“Pretty good,” Wash allowed, unable to unhinge his smile since he received his present.

“What ‘ave you done to Londres!” a voice wailed behind them.  The pair of them turned to see Paris barrelling at them.  Wash immediately held up the closed cronut box as a shield, albeit a flimsy one.  The Frenchman stopped two feet short and pointed an accusing finger at him.  “You!  You ‘ave- ‘ave messed with his _mind!_   ‘e would not stop smiling for all of our _petit déjeuner_!”

Wash would’ve answered, really, but part of his mind was trying to wrap around the fact that Paris and London had breakfast together.  _Like_ why _would they have breakfast together?_

Paris carried on regardless.  “Do you not understand?  I ‘ave only seen ‘im smile _twice_ these past hundred years!  Now ‘e will not stop!  _Il est trop terrifiant!_ ”

“What, is it seriously that big a deal?” Wash asked with a frown, looking over at Otto for confirmation.

“London is a bit of a gloomy gus,” Otto admitted.  “I mean, I didn’t ever see him smile while we had our Commonwealth meetings, but I thought that was jetlag.  Not that he’s _unfriendly_ or anything, but he’s just... reserved?”

This was news to Wash, seeing as London had been smiling half the time they were together.

“It is just _wrong!_ ” Paris cried out dramatically.  “Just take a look at ‘im!  It is _not naturel!_ ”  He gestured widely over towards the other side of the room, where London was presumably located.

Wash and Otto glanced over.

London was definitely _not_ smiling.  Not even close.  Instead, he seemed to be taking a great deal of interest in glowering between their direction and his pen.

“Uh... looks like he’s constipated, eh?” Otto remarked, trying to puzzle out why Paris would be having such a freak out.

Wash was about ready to smack Paris repeatedly over the head with a chair.  “You probably made him all self-conscious about his smiling!” he cried out indignantly.  “Now he’s not going to do it anymore!”

“Ah,” Paris replied, completely unapologetic.  “ _C’est pas probleme._ It is as it should be.  For your assistance, _merci beaucoup_.”  Then he frollicked back to London’s side, presumably to continue to make his life a living hell.

Wash pursed his lips, debating whether or not he should actually go over there.  Then again, he didn’t want to get all involved in London and Paris’ weird... _thing._   Plus London really did seem like he was in a bad mood.  Mentally sighing, he resolved to put it off until lunch and hoped London would be feeling better by then.

~o~

And he did not.

“Lunch?” London asked coolly, a full 180 degree turn from his mood last night.  Even his eyes were cold, like chips of jade.  Even though he was seated, he was expertly making Wash feel several feet smaller than him.

“Yeah, I’m buying, remember?” Wash replied, keeping his voice as even and friendly as he could manage.  He pulled on a smile.  “I promised.”  _You promised too_ , he wanted to add resentfully.  He really wasn’t sure what he deserved to get this sudden bout of unfriendliness, but it was actually kind of pissing him off. 

It wasn’t even really unfriendliness.  Just cold, reserved, professional politeness, just like Otto said. 

Which was much worse.

“I do not want you to feel obligated,” London replied, turning his attention back to putting his things back into his suitcase.  His voice held the same clipped tone that carried into his sharp movements.  He shut his case with two forceful snaps.  Then rose up to his feet.

“Look, are you pissed off at me for some reason?” Wash demanded, now beginning to frown.

That seemed to catch London off guard, as if the American bluntness had smacked him in the face.  He blinked once, before his cool expression turned softer.  Not into something gentle, but simply _tired._   “Not in the slightest,” London answered quietly, evading the other city’s gaze.  “I think very highly of you.  However, I would prefer it if we no longer associated with one another.  Do enjoy your lunch.  Good day.”

And with that jaw-dropping statement, London departed, leaving Wash staring after him.

~o~

“I don’t _get_ him!”

Otto could only laugh nervously in response as he watched the American capital slam down the coke that he’d used to wash down his third McDonald’s burger.  Okay, yeah, Wash was on a diet.  But he was _pissed,_ damn it!!

“Can you believe that _asshole!_   Just leading me on like that and then _Bam!_  He wants nothing to do with me!”

Otto was taking this remarkably well for someone who had only known him for two days.  He nodded along, being just as sympathetic as Wash needed him to be.  Particularly when Wash’s mood took a nosedive from outraged to depressed.

“He bought me _cronuts,_ Otto!” Wash wailed, slumping over onto the table.  “He was so sweet!  And he smiled at me!  And joked about Romans!  And talked for hours!  And took me on this huge expensive dinner!”

Otto simply hummed.  “No offense, Wash, but London’s kind of loaded,” he said as he slurped his soda.  “It probably wasn’t that bad for him.”

“It’s was $1,500!”

Otto spittaked all over him.

“Agh-!” Wash cried.

“You-!” Otto squeaked, turning very red, stricken between apology and exasperation.  He settled for the latter.  “You should have lead with that!”  (Wash had honestly never heard anyone yell so quietly.)  “Are you kidding?  $1,500?!”

“But that’s what I’m telling you!” Wash declared, wiping the soda spray off his glasses.  “I don’t get why you’d do that for someone you don’t like.”

“Oh.  He likes you,” Otto said flatly.  “He really, _really_ likes you.”

To which, Wash took a page from his book and responded, “Eh?”

“And, no offense, since I just met you and I don’t really know you well.  But you’re kind of an idiot.”

“Hey, wait a minute-”

“The problem is, London’s just as big an idiot as you are,” Otto continued, unperturbed.  “If you like him back, you’re going to have to do something about it.”

“But...” Wash said, growing flustered.  “But I invited him to dinner first.  _And_ lunch,” he added, none too resentfully.

His lunchmate shook his head.  “It’s not enough.  You’re going to have to do something more obvious.”

Wash could only gape at him for a loss of words.  “Like what?” he demanded, “Otto, you’re confusing me for Holly4.  I don’t _do_ dramatic stuff like that.”

Otto could only sigh.  “I’m only giving you my thoughts.  I like you a lot.  _Not_ like London does,” he added quickly, “But for some reason...  I’d like for you to be happy.”

It was more than Wash’s poor mood swung heart could take.  (It _had_ been put through the ringer lately.)  He sniffled, feeling just a bit teary again.  Very suddenly, he flung himself at Otto and wrapped him up in a bear hug.  “T-thank you~!  You’re like the brother I always wanted.  Why can’t we actually be related, Toronto!”

“ _Ottawa,_ ” Otto sighed.

A sudden clamour cut off the rather one-sided familial hug.  Both of them looked up just in time to see a flash of choppy, blond hair dash out into the street.  “Was that-” Otto started, but Wash was already on his feet and running after him.

“London!” Wash cried out, trying to follow the mop of blond as it expertly swam through the lunch crowds.  “London, stop _running!_ ”

The Brit did, very abruptly whirling on the other capital.  Wash just about collided into him and sent them both tumbling.  But in near Holly-esque style, he managed to hook an arm around the Brit’s waist and grabbed a pole with his free hand, saving them from colliding with the dirty ground.

London was not impressed.

“Stop screaming my name up and down the street, you twit!” he hissed and smacked Wash upside the arm, not a trace of gentlemanly behavior left in him.

“What the-  Oh, _plenty_ of humans are named London.  Stop bitching,” Wash hissed back, quite put out.

London took a second to process that, before he smacked Wash upside the head this time.  “ _Don’t call them humans!_ ”

Deciding it was better to take this off the street, Wash grabbed his arm and pulled London inside the nearest building.  It just so happened to be a pub, so he grabbed an empty booth and shoved London on one side of it.  He took the other.  “Look, _calm down,_ ” he said, reaching to take London’s wrists as he tried to flee.  “ _Stop it!_   Seriously, what is _with_ you?”

“You _kidnapped_ me,” London snarled.

“ _Before that,_ ” Wash stressed.  “Why did you run?  And for that matter, why are you suddenly avoiding me?”  However, a waitress approached and looked on the pair of them warily.  Reluctantly Wash released his captive so people wouldn’t start asking questions.  “Coke please.  Lo- _Arthur_ , do you want anything?”

Thankfully, London didn't bolt when he was free and took advantage to make his mussed state a bit more presentable.  “Whiskey.  Double.  Neat,” he said coolly, his tone more than anything chasing the waitress away.  He eyed her until she was out of earshot.  Then he answered as primly as possible.  “I left because I did not want to interrupt your _moment_ ,” this came out as a near growl, “with Ottawa.  I had no idea you were going to chase me down the street like a- a _common criminal_.”

“Moment?” Wash echoed stupidly.

London only reddened, growing more uncomfortable by the second.  “Your... in the...” He was visibly struggling, fidgeting under Wash’s scrutiny.  “McDonald's, just now.  It was far too friendly.”  The waitress came by, depositing the coke and whiskey.  London took the opportunity to drown his embarrassment in alcohol.

Once again Wash blinked.  Then the pieces were slowly beginning to fall together just as London clapped his empty glass down on the table.  “Wait...” he said, pointing at London, “you think- me and Otto- seriously?!”

“It was obvious,” London sniffed, “USA all but announced it when we first arrived.  Then when we confronted you, you didn't deny your closeness.  A-and then you gave the cronuts _I_ gave you to _him._   And next thing I know, I see the pair of you _embracing!_ ”

Oh.  _Oh!_   “Oh God!” Wash cried, physically recoiling.  “Are you kidding me?!  He's like my twin!  That's disgusting!”  The flush that bloomed on London’s cheeks indicated he thought otherwise.  “Oh, oh, ew!  Don't tell me you've thought about it!”  The Brit reddened further.  “ _Fantasized_ about it?!” Wash squeaked.

“Th-that- don't be absurd!” London cried, protesting too much.  “And that's besides the point.  I'm not interested in real life threesomes.”

_That didn't include fantasy ones._

The blush that spread over Wash’s face was even brighter than London’s.  “Damn, you're way kinkier than I thought you were,” he said, making London sputter unintelligibly.  “But Otto’s right about one thing.”

“And what's that?” London demanded grouchily.

“You're kind of an idiot,” Wash grinned.  And before the Brit could say anything, he leaned over and pulled London into a kiss.  London froze, but then he melted like butter and returned the kiss in full.

When they pulled apart, panting softly, Wash wanted to just wallow in bliss.  Of course, London brought up objections.  “But... I don't understand,” he murmured, admittedly distracted by the way Wash was tracing his fingers over his palms.  “I thought I was too old for you.”

“Nah, makes you experienced.”

“I'm a stuffy, irritable codger.”

“You're a dignified gentleman.”

“I've been told my eyebrows are too big.”

“Your eyebrows are adorable.”

“...you didn't kiss me in front of my hotel.”

“Oh...” Wash intoned, watching London fidget self-consciously.  He really was so, so sweet.  Even better, he didn't seem so perfect and untouchable now.  “Well, that's just unpardonable.  Unconscionable.  I need to do something about it.”

“Such as?” London asked, licking his lips.

Wash didn't tell him.  He decided to show him instead.

~o~

**EPILOGUE**

“It seems as though London has been spending an awful lot of time on Skype lately,” UK commented lightly as he studied his cards.

USA gave a noncommittal hum, exchanging a two and a seven for new cards.

“He's been going over my head to try to get some vacation time abroad,” UK added, setting his hand down and taking a sip of sugary tea.

“Funny, Wash has been doing the same thing.  Talking to POTUS while I'm off at NATO,” USA replied absently, tossing in his first ante.

“Seems harmless.  For now,” UK said lightly, putting in his own chips.  “We’ll have to keep an eye on them.”

Another noncommittal hum.

“But in the meantime... Biscuit?” UK asked cheerfully, holding up a little platter of cookies underneath USA’s nose.

His poker partner regarded them warily.  “The last time you gave me cookies, they had shards of glass in them.”

“So?” the Brit asked, his blue eyes glinting in challenge.  “They were delicious weren't they?”

USA studied him for a long moment before his lips pulled into a smirk.  He picked up a cookie, staring UK in the eye as he took a bite.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the idea was still niggling, I decided to do the Arthur side of events. I did my utmost to make sure that this read like an entirely standalone chapter. So I hope you enjoy.

London hadn’t the foggiest why he had to come to the United States in the middle of disgustingly humid heat of August.

Granted, this Sister City Program was a great opportunity to meet the capitals from outside his usual network, and it would help develop lasting relationships for the betterment of world peace, and  _ blah-de-de, blah-blah, blah. _

Really what it came down to was that UK said he had to.

So here he was in New York at UN HQ’s ballroom.  Exhausted from the jetlag and grouchy from the trip, forcing himself to make harrowing small talk with nation and capital alike - when he would much rather go to bed with a nice glass of sherry.

Honestly, could this evening reception not have waited until the next day?  Whoever planned this had made very little consideration of those in vastly different time zones.  Particularly  _ nations _ , who were not the easiest entities to deal with even on a good day.  His eyes trailed over to UK, who seemed manically cheerful as always (as in a quarter of the time).  No doubt, he’d be up all night.

Internally sighing, London steeled himself for a long night, when suddenly:

“Hey Wash!  You done flirting with Toronto!”

The voice all but boomed over the reception, slicing through the chatter for a momentary second of shock.  Unused to USA’s sheer volume, London’s head snapped over - like many capitals - to the direction of Canada, Ottawa, USA and... Oh.

London blinked, now fully awake as he watched the young capital tugged away from the site of the episode by his keeper.   _ So that was Washington... _  Of course, he’d heard of Washington.   _ Everyone _ heard of Washington.  Hard not to when his nation was a global hegemony.  Yet the opportunities to see him were precious few.  USA was quite... territorial (a common nation trait), so his cities never traveled abroad.  Of course, he should have known that Washington would be  _ here _ .

Curious, his gaze followed Washington around the room as the couple made their networking rounds.  The boy (for he could not help but think of him that way) really seemed like a brighter, younger version of USA himself.  Not even physically into his twenties, he was boyishly handsome, blond haired, blue eyed, with a smile like the sun.  (And  _ fit, _ holy hell.)  Not quite as rowdy as the nation, he nonetheless seemed to bring a levity to his conversations with the other powers that bordered on supernatural.

_ Does he have a silver tongue? _ he wondered as he watched Washington make Russia -  _ Russia _ \- laugh much to USA’s chagrin.  Even if it did sound a demonic chuckle.

Moreover, the boy seemed to have no sense for his own popularity.  Isolated as he was, he couldn’t possibly know how much the rest of the world read up on him and his nation.  All the better, because having one American with a swollen head would have been difficult to deal with, let alone two.  Instead, he just smiled and greeted everyone with equal amounts of affability.

London itched to go speak with him, but it was treacherous at best to stray from your country’s side with so many other nations around.  Once again, he glanced to UK, but the man did not seem particularly eager to drop his mission of forcing a cupcake onto France.

Which would never happen.

Well, there was really no need to go try to find him.  Surely, they would come in this direction and they could have some proper introductions.  Even if it simply wouldn’t do for one side of a Special Relationship to ignore the other,  _ no one _ ignored London.

And so London waited patiently.

And waited.

....and waited.

Suddenly a hand patted him on the back, jerking him out of his exhausted trance.  “Londres, you look like you are asleep on your feet!” Paris exclaimed behind him, pushing him towards the doors of the ballroom.  “Let us get back to the ‘otel and get some rest.  We ‘ave a long day a’ead of us.”

“ _ Wait _ ,” London said, digging his feet in.  “I need to introduce myself to Washington.  It would be impolite otherwise.  They’re hosting.”  Well, that wasn’t the  _ only _ reason.  Still it would do for Paris.

“Ah?” Paris said skeptically.  “You did not speak to ‘im already?  ‘e and Etats-Unis left an ‘our ago.”

“What?” London asked, aghast.

The French capital tsked.  “You truly are scatterbrained, Londres.  Well.   _ C’est pas probleme.   _ You will see them in the morning.   _ Allons-y! _ ”

Reluctantly, the Brit was forced to follow as the British and French contingents made their way to their respective suites at the Plaza Hotel.

~o~

A cup of stiff black tea did a nominal amount in waking London up the next morning.  Although breakfast in the hotel restaurant with Paris, France and UK just made him want to crawl back into bed and never come out.  It was not...  _ pleasant _ to say the least.  Yet he could not fathom  _ why _ France and UK always insisted on staying in the same hotel  _ every single time _ they had a meeting abroad.

In any case, the thoughts of finally sating his curiosity about a certain young capital did put a spring in his step.

However, finding the right moment was proving to be extraordinarily difficult.  Once they were segregated to their own rooms, Berlin immediately rounded up all the EU capitals and informed them they were to have a meeting and to prepare for each of the twenty items on the agenda he’d sent out to all of them during the reception.  Some of which, London needed to consult his Commonwealth pseudo-siblings.  Thus, he found himself furiously typing emails on his keyboard as he nursed his fourth cup of tea that morning.

London’s eye couldn’t help but wander off to the young capital’s direction as the boy made some token effort to work.  Washington made some hums and haws, discarding his phone (was that a blackberry?), as he tried to find some other way to occupy his time.  It was slightly aggravating to see him so relaxed when he had so much to do himself.  But then he watched the boy stretch languidly, exposing just a bit of well toned flesh as his shirt tugged up.  Flushing, he quickly turned away lest the boy notice him  _ noticing _ .

“What is wrong with your face?” Paris asked next to him, glancing up from his laptop.

“Nothing,” London replied tartly, the blush gone in a flash.

“Ah, I know that look,” Paris said slyly, his rose whipping out like some sort of demented conductor’s baton.  “Ah, ah,  _ ah! _ ” he said, putting a finger to London’s lips before he could protest.  He artfully ignored the way his companion slapped it away.  “You ‘ave a certain someone on your mind,  _ non? _ ”

“ _ No _ ,” London snarled.

“Oui,” Paris replied playfully.  He traced the rose down the Brit’s cheek and swung it out of reach as London tried to snatch at it.  “I wonder~  Who ‘ave you met recently?”  His blue eyes studied London’s own, as though reading them.  “Or who ‘ave you  _ not _ met?”

London didn’t look.  He  _ didn’t. _  Yet, his eyes still betrayed him as they gave an involuntarily flick in Washington’s direction.  Triumphant, Paris turned and espied his target.  “Ohohohon~  Two lovely candidates I see.  I did not know you were into twins, Londres.”

His gaze snapped over and saw Washington chatting away amiably with Ottawa.  “I was not thinking that!” he hissed, his face red with outrage.

_ (But now that it was in his head, it was awfully difficult to get out.) _

“Mmm~ they do look quite close,  _ non _ ?” Paris mused, his lips stretching into a lecherous smile.  Come to think of it.  Didn’t USA say something about that last night?  London couldn’t help but grudgingly agree as the look-alike pair chatted cheerfully with one another.

An unexpected twinge pricked in London’s chest at the sight of them.  It was... it was quite  _ rude _ for Washington to be so chummy with one of his commonwealth siblings, if he said so himself.  Particularly when he did not present London with such an opportunity yet...

“Shall we go speak to them?  Oui, we shall,” Paris suddenly decided, popping up to his feet.

“Paris?  Paris, wait!” London hissed after him as quietly as he could manage.  “They’re having a private-!”  Oh bloody hell, there he went.  Sighing, London fidgeted in his chair for several more heartbeats, debating whether or not he should go there and stop Paris from ruining their chat.

...Then again, he’d needed to speak to Ottawa regardless, did he not?  Just because he had to separate him from the American (and speak to Washington as well) was incidental.  A second later, he was on his feet.  He followed slowly, trying his best to go unnoticed.  Until he saw Paris render Washington an utterly delightful shade of pink.

Quickly donning the armour of gentleman-knight, London came to his rescue.  “Paris, stop it.  You’re frightening the lad.”

However, the damage must have already been done as Washington seemed at an utter loss for words as he tried to process whatever filthy, scandalous thing Paris must have said.  Which was mildly irritating because he  _ still _ had not heard the boy speak yet.

“Is ‘e always like this?” Paris asked Ottawa, gesturing at the American with his rose.

_ No, that is simply the effect you have on people. _

Ottawa’s reaction, however, was extraordinary.  Giving Washington a small glance, his pseudo-sibling instead turned a strange look on  _ him. _  As if this was  _ his _ fault that he’d let Paris interrupt them.  ...Which might be partially true.  “I’m not sure,” he admitted.  “He was doing fine until you two showed.”  There was a definite sharpness to his tongue that was quite unlike him.  London suddenly felt not the least bit of guilt for deciding to pry them apart.

“We could not ‘elp our  _ curiosité _ ,” Paris was saying.  “After all, the pair of you look so  _ alike.  _  You could be twins.  Do you not think so, Londres?”

“Quite remarkable,” London agreed with a small nod, his eyes passing over the pair of them.  Finally, he could feel the focus of Washington’s attention solely on him.  It was... odd.  For the look that the boy gave him seemed... annoyed?  Did he somehow sense his motives for coming over?  Quickly, he decided he had better make amends just when the young capital was about to blurt something out.  “You’re quite lucky,” he admitted, giving Washington an apologetic smile, “You seem to be getting on well and your nations are close.  I’m sure that you could forge a true sister-city partnership, as was intended with this entire venture.”

Ottawa and Washington both blinked, then exchanged a grin as publically secret as an inside-joke.  It made London’s hackles rise with irrational ease.

That was until he finally heard Washington speak.  “What about you?” the boy asked, his voice warm, inviting, and intelligent with just a hint of a southern lilt.  It was like licking a spoon of spiced honey.  Unbidden, the thought of licking honey from those lips frazzled most of London’s thoughts.  “You seem close...?” the young American ventured, as London scrambled to think of something to say.

“Only because we have been at each other’s throats for so long,” London replied, folding his arms over his chest, glancing away from those impressively blue eyes.  Glaring at Paris was a good standby.

“Ah, Londres,  _ tu m’aimes _ ,” Paris said sweetly, deliberately goading him.

“You’re right.  I do enjoy maiming you,” London responded dryly.  His eyes flicked over to Washington, who seemed amused by their banter.  Good.  Hopefully the boy wouldn’t feel too sour as he tried to eviscerate his budding relationship.

“I wonder if we could borrow you for an hour or so.  I would like to get all the Commonwealth together to chat on a few items.  Before we have our EU meeting.  Are you free?” London asked Ottawa, though he obviously hadn’t started rounding up the other ones yet.  

“What?  Oh, of course,” Ottawa replied (because honestly, what else could he say?), “I’ll talk to you later Wash.”

A twinge of guilt did barb when Washington looked positively crestfallen at Ottawa’s departure.   _ He’s simply disappointed he’s losing someone to talk to, _ London tried to tell himself, even as he grew more annoyed that the boy had not seen fit to speak to  _ him _ properly yet.  However, it was too late now, as he lead the way to find the other Commonwealth capitals.

“I believe I saw Sydney and Auckland heading to the restroom,” he said as they passed out into the hall.

“Uh, which restroom does Auckland use again?” Ottawa asked, matching London’s speed.

_ Damned if he knew. _

Ottawa seemed to sense nothing of his ulterior motives, content to simply follow until: “Ah, London?  I just thought of something.  Is it a good idea to leave Paris alone with Washington?”

“How so?” London asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced back at his sibling.

“Well, Paris was being a little... creepy?” Ottawa suggested, making the older capital scoff.

“Paris?  Oh please.  You don’t know him.  He’s perfectly harmless,” London replied.  Besides it would do for Washington to keep company with someone who didn’t look like his mirror-reflection.

That was when a whirlwind of auburn hair and sharp metal flew past them, making the pair stop short.  Their eyes wide, they watched in mounting alarm as an equally powerful wintry gust shoved them against the wall.

London could only stare in acute horror as the door to the capitals’ room was flung open followed by the war cry: “Who’s attacking my city?!”

“ _ Do you go after my capital now, дворняжка?!” _ Russia boomed after him.

Then all hell broke loose.

~o~

As it turned out, Paris assaulted Washington,  _ sexually _ , almost as soon as London took Ottawa away.  This of course alerted USA to the ne'er do well’s so-called attack and the rest went from there...

When London got the full story from UK later, he couldn’t possibly be more wracked with guilt.  His incredibly  _ petty  _ actions had very nearly started WWIII and could have done irreparable harm to the American capital.  Granted, London knew that even his smallest actions sent ripples across the globe, but he was usually never so  _ careless. _

He  _ needed _ to do something to make up for his mistake.

When he tried to explain all this to UK though, his nation was unexpectedly blasé about it.  “Wait, what do you need to fix?” UK asked, his face forming into a frown as he fiddled about in their suite’s full kitchen for his daily baking ritual.

“I unwittingly orchestrated the entire debacle!” London exclaimed, seated at the counter with a cup of tea, “I took Ottawa away on purpose!  It is my fault that Washington was nearly decimated by a nuclear warhead!”

“He talked himself out of it well enough,” UK said, still studying his capital with a critical eye.  Then he smiled, “I think you just think a bit too highly of yourself.  The whole world doesn't revolve around you.”

That was ridiculous.  Of course, it did.  Greenwich Mean Time and all that.

“Well I can hardly let this lie,” London said, folding his arms over his chest as he willed UK to just  _ listen.  _  “I must make amends for my atrocious behaviour.  I need to make sure that Washington bears me no ill will.”

“And  _ why _ exactly does the boy’s opinion matter to you so much?” UK asked, giving his capital a sly look.

London couldn't quite figure out how to answer.  “I- he's-” he started, trying best to figure out how to convey his feelings on the boy that had been mostly an irritant.  “I do not know why, but he's hardly spoken to me since I've arrived.  He needs to stop.”

UK blinked, then began to uproariously giggle.

“What?” London asked irritably.

“Oh, oh, this is just precious!” UK cried, now falling into full blown laughter.  “He’s ignoring you!  No wonder you've been so huffy.”  Before London could say,  _ ‘I absolutely have not’,  _ his nation gave him another smile.  “ _ So~ _ you want Washington to talk to you.  Appreciate you.   _ Smile _ at you?”

London reddened, thinking of that bright young face turned towards his with a handsome smile just for him.  It was inexplicably a little more difficult to breathe.

...oh no.

UK seemed to sense what had dawned on his capital, even as London tried desperately to avoid his gaze.  His grin only grew, his eyes flickering with wicked delight.  “Well~ it is a bit of a mess you've gotten yourself into.  I doubt that USA will want anyone to speak to Washington for the rest of the conference.  Terribly protective of him, as you should well know.”  London immediately felt his hopes plunge.  “It will be tricky to get you close enough to talk.”

Suddenly, the nation clapped his hands together.  “Right, time for a second opinion.”

“No, no, don't!” London cried, bolting up to wave wildly, but then it was already too late.

Quite frankly, it wasn't a second opinion that he usually got, but four.  All normally completely unhelpful.  He could see the personalities flicker, fighting for dominance.  Finally, UK settled on a brogue, his gaze decidedly dismissive.  “Well, laddie, so ye've got yerself a crush, heh?  And what makes ye kin tha’ this lad wants anything to do with ye, e’en if ye do apologize?”

Damn it.  This is why he hated this.

“I'm not entirely undesirable,” London growled at UK.

“Nae, but ye kin too highly of yerself.”  No guesses where UK got that from then.  The country rubbed his chin, giving London a highly critical look.  “Is it inconceivable tha’ he jes wants nothing tae do with ye?  From the looks o’ it, he's a powerful, young city.  He's got his pick o’ the lot and it don’ need tae include  _ you.” _

“And what's wrong with me?” London demanded, his chin rising in defiance.

“Oh  _ now _ , don't be too  _ hard  _ on the poor babe,” UK said, beginning the inevitable process of arguing with himself, as his voice took on a distinctly sing-songy lilt.  “Everyone  _ knows  _ you just want to pull  _ hair  _ from his nose.”

“Babe, me arse,” UK started off on himself.  “He's two thousand years old!  Ye kin how old the boy is? No more n’ two-fifty!  Why, for tha’ alone, Washington should want nothing tae do with him.”

Quite frankly, London hadn't realized the age difference until right then.  The thought stole the color from his already pale complexion.  However, UK wasn't done.  Not even close.

“We already know ‘e tinks too ‘ighly of ‘imself,” another personality added, goading the scottish side on.

“I  _ suppose  _ his eyebrows  _ are  _ too big.”

“And ‘e's a  _ snob _ .”

“A stuffy n’ irritable codger.”

London could scarcely get a word in.  Not that he particularly wanted to as UK continued to gang up on him  _ with  _ himself to talk to  _ himself  _ about how horrible his own capital was.  As unobtrusively as he could, he took his cup of tea and slid off his stool to head to his room.

“London,” a voice called with a decidedly English accent, halting him in his tracks.

A chill went down London’s spine.   _ England _ unnerved him most of all, for reasons he didn't quite understand and certainly didn’t make any sense.  Slowly turning, London faced UK who looked at him with a strange smile.  “Yes, sir?”

“We can catch him in the morning before they head into the building.  USA shouldn't be so guarded then.  Leave it to me,” UK said with a nod, pulling out various flours and soy milk.  

“Right.  Thank you, sir,” London said, returning the nod.

Then he fled.

~o~

Blessedly, UK was (sort of) stable by morning.  He'd managed a neat little box of biscuits that shone with what looked like candy pieces.  UK slapped his hand away before he could nick one.  “They're vegan and  _ not _ for you,” he chirped with a smile.  His eyes went to the rain clouds cast over their view of Central Park.  “Fetch the brollies.  We should get going.”

As they arrived at UN HQ, it was drizzling a mild rain.  The few other powers that were there that early quickly headed inside, giving them the odd look or two.  London wasn't concerned about the rain, but the  _ waiting  _ was beginning to unravel him.  He stomach churned with nerves, wondering how he best should greet and apologize to the younger city.  So  _ much _ younger.  Urgh.

His lustful revelation about the American capital was not helping matters either.

An elbow to his side drew his attention upwards where a dark town car pulled up to the entrance.  London’s heart skipped a beat when he spied Washington step out into the cool rain.  His presence seemed to startle the young capital, who was irritatingly at a loss for words.  Washington settled for a half-hearted wave that seemed sad even to him.

London had no idea how to respond to  _ that. _  Thankfully, UK took up the reigns.

“Good morning, you two!” UK said brightly.  “Wanted to catch you before you went in.  Mind?”

“What for?” USA demanded, nothing but pure hostility pouring into those two syllables.  It was intimidating to say the least.  It was only then that London realized what a startling  _ red _ his eyes were.

The Brit nearly jumped when UK pressed a hand to his back.  “This one wanted a chat with your capital.  In private.”  He opened up the box to reveal the candied treats.  “Biscuit?  No quadrupeds or feathered friends harmed or violated in anyway.”

In a moment of indecision, USA looked at London suspiciously, then his capital, then at the biscuits.  “...Fine,” he said brusquely.  “But they’re staying in range of sight.”  With that UK smiled and whisked them away, giving London the privacy he so desired.

Not that he quite knew what to do with it.

Washington looked towards him, hands shoved into the pockets of his black trench coat.  “So... you wanted to talk to me?” the young capital asked warily in that smooth honeyed voice.  This time, London had the whole of his attention.  And it was  _ agony _ .

His body betrayed him, giving way to fidgeting as those blue eyes pressed into him.  No matter what, he  _ needed _ to make his amends.  Then see where things went from there.  Through sheer effort, he pushed the words out like his last breath, “I... I just... wanted to apologize.  For yesterday.”

Washington blinked and in that terrible instant London realized the boy had no idea what he was talking about.  Oh bloody hell, those fools were  _ right _ .  The American didn’t even give the matter a second thought.

Too late to turn back now, London pressed on.  “I heard about what happened,” he tried to explain,  “I should not have been so thoughtless as to leave you alone with Paris.  I am the one that usually deals with him, so I know what he’s like.  However, most cities are completely unprepared for the likes of him...”

“Oh...” Washington said, “Heard about that, huh?”  His cheeks turned a faint pink with understandable embarrassment.  It was likely not the young capital’s finest moment.  London felt more the goat for bringing it up.  Then Washington sighed, before he replied good naturedly, “You know, London, that’s really not your fault.  I could have handled that better.  And I don’t think anyone expected USA to rush in with a... bat,” he added with a crinkle of his nose.

“Even so...” London murmured, internally cursing himself for this entire venture.  He had never felt more like an absolute twat.

An agonizing minute of awkward silence followed as the Brit counted through the steps to tie a noose, when the American saved him from the final plunge to utter humiliation.  “You know... You could make it up to me?” the younger capital suggested helpfully.

London’s head snapped up from his feet, looking Washington in the eye.  “How so?” he demanded.  At this point, he was willing to do just about  _ anything _ to keep this from spiraling into an awkward oblivion.

“Treat me to dinner?” Wash suggested, giving the Brit a smile that could melt a glacier.  As it was, his heart was pattering at an alarming rate.  “My sis, Ames - New York, that is - she has a lot of really amazing restaurants.  It would be a shame if you went back without trying something.”

Dinner...?  As in a date?  Was he being asked out on a date?  In his spectrum, this was certainly flirting, but London was unsure if it really was that or just the nature of over-friendly American charm.

Knowing he’d have to say something (and honestly, what else  _ could _ he answer), London returned the smile with a faint one of his own.  “Oh.  Yes, of course.  That sounds like an excellent idea.  I need to check with UK, but it should be alright.”  Not that he thought that UK would care, really.

That’s when it occurred to him.  This was his introduction.   _ Finally.   _ A date before introductions, how odd.  Nonetheless, his smile widened and he held out a hand to the American, “Of course, if I’m going out with you I think I should know what to call you.  I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.  London.  Nice to meet you.”

London was not above using the Prince Charming offensive.

It seemed to work too, as Washington answered brightly, “DC!” and returned the gesture with a firm shake.

Well, that was a nice surprise.  Everyone else just seemed to call the boy Wash.  Did he get his own personal nickname?  Was that too much to hope for?  Likely.  That bordered on the verge of the delusional and he already had  _ multiple _ warnings that his ego was too bloated.

“What an adorable nickname,” London said, lest Washin- no,  _ DC, _ rescind the offer.  “DC it is then.  What is your number? I'll message you after the meetings are over,” he asked as he pulled out his phone.

Scarcely after the deed was done, USA and UK wandered over as if sensing their impropriety.  “All set?” UK asked brightly, depositing the empty sweets box into a bin.  London nodded.  “Good.  London, come along now.  Time to get busy.”

Once they were safely away, his nation turned to him.  “So~ how did it go?” he asked, patting the capital’s arm.  “Did he accept your apology?”

London wasn’t sure if he imagined that slight mocking tone.  “He did,” he answered primly.  No need to tell him about how poorly that went.  “We have plans for dinner later.  I assume there’s no other events that I need to attend in the evening?”

“No, none,” UK replied simply, though the sly look in his eyes told all.

London ignored it.  Like much he did with UK.  Instead, he occupied his mind with thoughts of dinner with the charming young American with that special little nickname just for him.

~o~

_ DC: Columbus Circle at 7?  In front of Time Warner Center. _

_ DC: Looking forward to it! :) _

Seven could not possibly have come soon enough.

London spent an alarming amount of time over-analyzing the short texts from Washington and then an equally appalling amount of time labouring over what to wear for dinner.   _ Nothing _ he had from his limited wardrobe looked quite right (which was odd as he was usually very coordinated), prompting him to make an emergency stop at a local department store.

Which was a  _ terrible _ idea.

Instead of being thrown into indecision about five ties, he was now confronted with the choice of  _ hundreds _ .  Not to mention the ascots, the pocket squares, and the boutonnieres.  The poor shop girls had no idea what to make of him as he had a near meltdown between a Salvatore Ferragamo forest green tie with silver collar bar or the Burberry india green tie with gold, asking which of them brought out his eyes better because  _ they were completely different colours. _  Then he was forced to make a decision when he realized that he was going to be late if he wanted to get to Columbus Circle at 6:30.

He arrived at 6:43,  _ late, _ and already regretting his tie choice.

The minutes crawled to seven o’clock as he waited, trying to spy the young American in the crowd.  Each second was like an hour, going so slowly that London wanted to crawl out of his skin.

Seven came.

Then passed.

At 7:15, London came to the horrible conclusion that something must have happened to Washington to have kept him from their appointment.  What time was his last text?  Five?  That was two hours in which some sort of catastrophe could have occurred.   _ Surely, _ the boy would have called him to let him know where he was otherwise.  Was he in the hospital?  In USA’s captivity?  Should he try to call UK to see if he could figure out where the boy was?

Then at 7:16, Washington came bounding into view and London realized that he was just  _ late. _

“Sorry about that!” DC said, jogging up to meet him, with a bright smile that quickly hushed all of London’s irritation at his tardiness.  “I tried hailing a cab, but then I realized how close this place was so I just hoofed it.  Were you waiting long?”

The American certainly was built for running, London thought as he eyed Washington’s bare throat.  He was paradoxically both cleaned up and dressed down.  Wearing a fresh gray suit, instead of any kind of tie, Washington opted for a sky blue button down shirt that bared his collarbones and accented his eyes quite nicely, as well as a simple blue and yellow striped pocket square.

London suddenly felt like an overdressed ponce.  He coughed slightly, shifting his eyes away from Washington’s throat lest they stick like glue.  “Not long,” he lied.  “Now where are we headed?”

“A place called Masa,” DC replied as he brought out his phone to check the details.  “Should be on the fourth floor in this building.”

“Masa?” London asked, surprised that he knew the name.  “I’ve heard of it actually.  It’s quite famous.”

“Oh yeah?” DC asked, looking pleased as punch.  He was either proud or he wanted to impress, but either way London was happy his opinion brought a smile to the boy’s face.

“Yes, it’s supposed to be one of the most expensive restaurants in the world.  It’s £300 minimum a seat,” London replied.  Of course, he only knew this off the top of his head because one of his favourite restaurants in London,  _ Restaurant Gordon Ramsay, _ was also on the list.  Not quite as pricey as Masa, but he visited it a bit more frequently than he ought to.  Still, the fact that Washington wanted to take him to someplace so exclusive was... encouraging.

Except a second later, London realized that it  _ wasn’t _ when a terrible pallour came over Washington’s face, making him as white as snow.  “Oh,” was all he could manage, looking as though London had just told him his dog had died.

London took a second and thought back on his words.  Then he was about ready to kick himself for his demonstrable lack of  _ tact _ .  How could he be such a nob to bring money up?  He wondered if he could just pretend his faux pas away as he studied the facade.  Well, he was treating the lad after all.  He wanted the boy to feel  _ special. _

“Well, let’s try it.  Shall we go in?” he suggested.

“W-wait, seriously?” DC stuttered, clearly still stricken by his mention of the price tag.   _ Idiot, idiot, idiot.   _ “Look, my sister picked the place.  We really don’t need to go.  I’m sure we could find some other nice restaurant.”

However, London was already decided and he strode towards the lobby.  “No, it’s quite alright,” he said resolutely, determined to be the perfect gentleman more than ever.  “I wouldn’t want to put your sibling out after she went to such trouble.”

“At least let me pay my own way,” DC pressed, following in the rear.  “This is a bit ridiculous for an apology dinner.”

The words stopped London short.  Apology dinner?  His heart sunk to the pit of his stomach, his hopes dashed.  Right.  That’s right.  This  _ wasn’t _ a date.  Washington wasn’t  _ interested _ like that.  Why would he be when he was clearly enamoured with a much sweeter, more docile Ottawa whose smiles came just as easily as his own. (And clearly was in his own age group.)

This was merely a transaction to alleviate London’s guilt.  That was all.

Regardless, London would soldier on.  He did owe the boy after all.  Yet now the entire affair felt cheapened _ ,  _ as though he were paying for a courtesan.  He was, in a way, paying for the young American’s time.  Unable to look the handsome boy in the eye, he said, “I’m a man of my word.  I must insist I pay.  I am more than capable.”

“Well...” he heard DC say behind him and London worried he was just going to call the whole thing off.  He could not have predicted the beautiful, brilliant words DC said next: “Then I’ll pay next time.  Anywhere you want to go.  At your place.”

Whirling around, London turned to stare at the young capital.   _ A next time. _  That meant  _ something. _  It had to.  An unbidden smile broke over his features.  How the boy could extract them so easily, he did not know.  “Very well,” he said, his chest warm with delight.  He gestured to the doors.  “Shall we?”

Washington followed readily then, the pair of them shown to the elevator to the fourth floor.  When they stepped out into the restaurant, it was as if they were transported into Tokyo.  Warm neutral colours surrounded them, such as natural wood and calming quiet white walls.  Mobiles needed to be turned off to avoid unpleasant distraction before they were shown to their table, in an effort to enhance the diner experience.

London was actually getting quite excited about this.  Maybe he wasn’t the best cook in the world (or at all, according to UK), but he did have exceptional restaurants and he enjoyed going out, much to his nation’s chagrin.  If that made him a snob, then so what?  If one had the finer things, why not enjoy them?

The only problem was that he could sense that DC was still internally fretting.  While it was sweet the boy was feeling rather guilty about the blow to his wallet, London wanted just as much for him to enjoy himself as well.

Taking a chance, he gently touched the top of the other capital’s hand to grab his attention.  Only to startle the younger capital out of his thoughts.  London pulled back, wondering if he had overstepped.  “Don’t worry about the bill,” he said, giving DC a faint smile.

His gambit paid off when DC visibly relaxed and returned the smile with one shy and pleasing.  “Sorry,” he said and worried nothing more of it.

From there, dinner could only be described as a journey of overindulgence.  London anticipated it coming to the United States, but he did not expect it in this caliber.  Every bite was delightful and unexpected, from toro-and-caviar sushi, to thinly sliced wagyu beef, to summer truffles pressed onto sushi rice.  The sake was quite nice too, though admittedly not his forte.  Which is why he opted for the $200 bottle instead of the $400.  No need to spend the quid if he couldn’t make out all the nuances.

DC, while he obviously enjoyed his food, admitted that most of his restaurants were not nearly as sophisticated.  “Yeah, there is one place called Minibar, but it is  _ impossible _ to get a table!” he exclaimed.  “You have to call on four specific days of the year, then just grab whatever seats they have available in the next three months if they haven’t all been snatched up by then.  And there’s only like fifteen seats in the place!  That’s why it’s called mini, I suppose.”

With an exasperated sigh and a shake of his head, DC went on, “To be honest with you, I’m just as happy going out for a nice steak.  Nothing like a big hunk of hot meat for dinner.”  To which London promptly choked on his water.  “Hey, you okay?” DC asked, when he realized the Brit was red and spluttering, jumping up to pat him on the back.  Thank the Lord, the boy was  _ clueless. _

“Fine,” London replied, clearing his throat.  “Just... the water.”

“Oh, okay good,” DC said, visibly relieved.  “You just ate fugu, so I wasn’t sure.”

_...Fugu?  What?  _  London decided not to inquire in favour of getting his breath back.  Also, the hand against his back was  _ terribly _ distracting.  It went away fairly quickly, much to London’s disappointment.

Once he recovered, London asked primly, trying to get his dirty mind back on track, “So what is your favourite steakhouse?”

“Mmm, Capital Grille’s okay,” DC mused, “and Ray’s the Steaks is the popular one.  But I think I like Medium Rare the best.”  His blue eyes took on a mischievous twinkle as he leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “They have a  _ secret sauce. _ ”

London, very suddenly, did not care that no restaurant worth its salt would ever put something like ‘secret sauce’ on the menu.  He also did not care he was stuffed to the hilt.  He very much wanted to go to Washington’s house and try his big hunk of hot meat coated in secret sauce.

_ Damn it,  _ stop  _ it. _

“So, you’ve been around a while.  What’s your favorite?” DC asked, once again masterfully turning the conversation back onto him.  London had already spoken a distressing amount already (he would much rather listen to the American’s voice than his own), but given the theme of his current thoughts it was probably better that the young capital stop talking for a little while.

When the American decided to roll up his sleeves to expose his toned forearms, something that the Brit had no idea how he got away with in this place, London  _ kept _ talking so that he wouldn’t be caught staring.

It was only later after dinner wrapped up that London realized just  _ how much _ he had talked.  Frankly, it was a little alarming and he suddenly became very,  _ very _ worried that DC would only think of him as that elderly uncle that talked everyone’s ear off.  It was  _ not _ an image he wanted to bear.

“I must apologize again,” London said as the pair of them strode along the edge of Central Park.  “I cannot believe I took up nearly all the conversation.  It was inconsiderate of me.”

“Dude, stop,” DC said, waving off London’s flustered apologies with a cheerful laugh.  “You just dropped, what, $1,500 for dinner?  I think you’re covered on faux pas for a while.”

“Even so, you must think me a terrible dinner companion.  I’m sure that Ottawa is much less of a bore,” he added darkly.  Naturally, DC would talk more with  _ Ottawa. _

DC didn’t seem to notice the dark note in his voice as he said brightly, “No, I liked listening to your stories.  Honest.  I haven’t been through a whole lot in comparison.  I mean, there was that one time when I was a kid that I was invaded by the... um.  Oh.”  Just like that, the boy stopped dead, his face paling.  As if he just realized who he was speaking with.

London’s whole body went cold, despite the summer heat.  A boy, a  _ child. _  Good Lord, he hadn’t...  Washington was but a  _ child  _ when that happened.  He had never even realized or  _ cared _ for that matter.  Of course, he wasn’t  _ there, _ but looking up to the boy’s horrified face, he could not help but feel as though he’d put the torch to his pyre himself.

“No, no, no!  It’s okay!” DC said suddenly, waving his arms as if to dissipate his dark thoughts.  “I mean, no, it’s not okay.  But it’s just a ‘sweep it under the rug’ thing.  I promise.  No hard feelings.”

_ Where _ the American could find this font of forgiveness, he did not understand.  It was unreasonable to expect of him.  As his discomfort mounted, DC only pressed further, “I had a really,  _ really _ nice time tonight.  Can we please just forget I said anything?  I don’t want this to end on a bad note.”

_ Neither did he. _

Those imploring, beautiful blue eyes crumbled London’s resistance.  Sucking in a breath, he said softly, “If you’re sure...”

“I am,” DC insisted.

“Very well.  It would be ungentlemanly of me to make you uncomfortable,” London decided with a nod.  DC looked pleased, before they settled back into their quiet walk.

Lost in his own thoughts, London could not help but look at the young capital in a new light.  He had known Washington was handsome (obviously), but he simply wasn’t a pretty face anymore.  He was generous with his smiles, friendly to the point of being over-bearing, and bright in more ways than one (albeit a little oblivious).  Come to think of it, he was beginning to think that DC had purposefully orchestrated their entire dinner so that he took up most of the conversation.

More than that, he was achingly sweet and unjaded in a way that could only come from the naivety of youth.  It was like a breath of fresh air.  No matter how much it made him sound like a lecher, London wanted it - wanted  _ him _ \- desperately.  So much so that he thought his heart fit to burst.

After tonight, he dared to hope that Washington felt the same way.

Keenly aware that they were approaching his hotel, London tried to slow the pace.  He wanted just a few more seconds of peace before the deciding moment.  However, he was unable to delay anymore as the doorman recognized him.

Stopping under the canopy, London turned to his dinner companion.  “This is me.”  He swallowed reflexively, waiting with bated breath as he gave the American an expectant look.  Every nerve alight with anticipation.

To which, DC blinked at their surroundings and then let out a jarring laugh.  “Oh, hah!  That’s funny.  I’m right over there,” he explained, pointing over to the Ritz.

...What.

“Oh,” London said, his expectations snuffed out by a suffocating cloud of doom and gloom.  Not that one  _ had  _ to kiss on the first date, but... DC did not even look like he was  _ considering _ it.  “...How convenient,” he managed, unable to think of anything else to say.

A long, awkward beat followed.

“S’pose I should get going...” DC said, a master of overcoming awkward silences.  As his back turned, London could feel his heart sinking lower and lower...

Well.  It was nice while it lasted, he supposed, trying to stave off the crushing disappointment.

Then the American paused, as if considering something, before he spun around.  “Hey, you want to have lunch tomorrow?”

Just like that, hope sprung eternal.  “You want to- I mean, yes!” London replied hastily, managing to stop himself before asking  _ why _ the boy was still interested.  In a more dignified tone, he added, “I would love to.”

“Good.  I’m buying,” DC said with another one of those bright smiles that made London’s heart stutter.  

“You better,” London replied, feeling on top of the world, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  He still wasn’t entirely sure about the motivations of the invitation, but one did not look a gift horse in the mouth.  He was about to head back in, until he remembered something he saw in an advertisement the other night.  “DC,” he called out to catch the boy’s attention, “what’s your name?  The one you’re registered under.”

Befuddled, DC replied, “Huh?  Oh, Alfred F. Jones.  Why?”

Alfred?  Like Alfred the Great, was it?  How lovely.  A smile stretched over London’s face as he thought of the next step of his secret courtship.  “No reason,” he answered lightly.  “Good night.”  With that, he headed inside.

Straight to the concierge.  “Good evening George,” he told the man.  “So... these cronuts I’ve been hearing so much about.  How difficult would it be to procure a dozen of them or so...?”

~o~

As it turned out, it was  _ absurdly  _ difficult.  More so than simply laying down a credit card for a £1,000 dinner.  Pre-ordering was out of the question.  So London was up until the wee hours of the morning, forced to bribe the first six New Yorkers in the queue who would accept to give him their precious two Cronut TM limit.  (Not just a cronut, but a  _ Cronut _ TM .)

Pleasant people, really.  Only a couple blasted him with obscenities.  The rest of the rejectors just flipped him the bird.

Granted, he could have waited in line himself for just two, but what was the point of that grand gesture?  UK did tell him that quantity, not quality, was the way to an American’s heart (or his stomach rather).

...Then again, there might have been a slight brogue to his accent when he said that.

No matter.  His mission was accomplished - hand delivered to the Ritz Carlton’s front desk himself at the crack of dawn.  He rode the rest of his morning on his happy high (and several pots of tea), to the point where even UK was getting a little unnerved by his cheerfulness.

Paris was the most affected by his blissful demeanor, holding his arms up in a cross as though to ward a vampire whenever London aimed a smile in his direction.  A fool was he, since now London was armed with the weapon of sunshine and rainbow unicorns.  Ha!

_ Bloody hell, he needed some sleep. _

Miraculously, he kept it up all through their trip to the UN.  Paris promptly left him at their usual table, saying with all the gravitas of a peacock,  _ ‘Wait ‘ere and I will get to the bottom of this.’ _  London merely hummed in acknowledgement, still idly wondering how DC received his present.  Did he gasp?  Did he smile?  Did he show off to his country?  

...Did he give one to Ottawa?!

His eyes finally caught sight of Washington, blocked in by Paris and that  _ Canadian backstabber _ .  In Ottawa’s hand was undeniably a Cronut TM , already half-eaten away.  A conflagration of hot outrage instantly burned his happy mood to ash, leaving him smoldering with intense  _ dislike _ as he regarded the trio.

He could not believe- the  _ gall- _  After all that work he did to get those damned Cronuts TM , DC just  _ gave it away. _  To  _ Ottawa. _

A well of despair opened up underneath the fire, adding fuel to it.  Right.  Ottawa.  He should have remembered.  Washington’s  _ thing _ with Ottawa.  Washington liked  _ him _ better.  For reasons that, while he seethed with pure green-eyed jealousy, he could not possibly fathom.  

_ You’re being unreasonable. _

Sucking in a long breath, London closed his eyes.  If he carried on with this, he was going to set off some alarm bell and he did  _ not _ want UK coming in here.  However, it was more than difficult to try to settle down when his heart was breaking.

The young American was not obligated to trade his love for a pastry.  Nor to have romantic feelings for him simply because they went out for a wonderful dinner.  Or even for the more powerful reason that London  _ wanted him _ .  DC seemed to like him, true.  However, it would be unfair of him to expect the boy to fall into his arms.  Just because.

Yet seeing him with another was just too painful to bear.

Right.  He had to stay away from DC.  Just for a spell.  Or for centuries, as was like to happen after this Sister City Program was over.  He was getting entirely too wrapped up in his emotions and it was unbecoming of him.  For the rest of this stay, he would simply be polite and professional.  As he would be with anyone else.

London only hoped that DC forgot about his promise for lunch.

~o~

He did not.

In fact, DC approached with such joviality, London found his resolve already beginning to crumble.  Hope flickered from the ashes before he put his foot down and stomped it out.  No.   _ No. _  He had to stay strong for the both of them.  “Hey London!” the young capital said, gorgeous as ever, “Are you ready for lunch?”

“Lunch?” London replied politely, trying to put up an unshakeable exterior.  Hopefully, feigning ignorance would dissuade him.

“Yeah, I’m buying, remember?” DC said with a friendly smile.  Just friendly and nothing else.  “I promised.”

Right.  That.  London repressed the urge to scowl.  He hardly wanted to go out with the lad only if he felt guilty about the large dinner bill.  London certainly had no regrets.  Turning back to his suitcase, he began to pack his things up so he would have an excuse to leave.   “I do not want you to feel obligated,” he told the boy as he stood, the politeness getting a bit forced now.  But he was, as ever, a gentleman.

However, for some reason that made the boy frown, a flicker of hurt in those eyes.  “Look, are you pissed off at me for some reason?” he asked with a bluntness that completely knocked London off his stride.  London blinked at a loss for words.  He had a perfectly calm, professional facade in place and the boy decided to not only ignore it, but knock it down with a sledgehammer.  Who  _ did _ that?

His young American crush, of course.

Finally recovering, London let the facade slip into one more honest.  The boy deserved that much, at least.  “Not in the slightest,” London answered quietly, unable to look DC in the eye.  “I think very highly of you.  However, I would prefer it if we no longer associated with one another.  Do enjoy your lunch.  Good day.”

With that, he turned and fled as quickly as dignity would allow.

~o~

London begged off a couple invitations for lunch as he left the UN building.  Right now, he simply wanted to be alone and  _ wallow _ for lack of a better word.  Eventually, he simply found an empty bench in a small urban park and settled down.

Despite his intense desire to be left in solitude, the vivid image of the America’s hurt expression nastily trailed after him and occupied his thoughts.  Groaning, London let his brow sink against his palm, as if that would will the memory the way.  Lord, how did he manage to be such an  _ arse _ without even trying?  He was certainly not out to try to hurt DC in any way.  On the contrary, he simply thought staying away would be better for the both of them.

Yet it seemed to have blown up in his face.

With a sigh, London leaned back, studying the old church that loomed over the little park.  Perhaps... it would be better if DC simply knew the truth?  As humiliating as it might be for himself, surely the young capital would be a bit more understanding of his need to stay away.  Even though there was a chance he might think London was pathetic for lusting after someone so much younger than himself.  London doubted that he would.  He was just too...  _ sweet. _  No, worse would be the look of  _ pity _ when he realized that he could not offer the older capital what he wanted.  It made a terrible shudder tremble down his skin at the very thought of it.

However, DC wouldn’t hurt anymore, would he?  Moreover, there would be a chance they could be... chums, once London had a chance to recover his sensibilities.  He simply had to humble himself enough to tell the boy that there was nothing wrong with him.  In fact there were too many things right.

Right.  That was what he would do.  Just as soon as he got back to the UN.  He would catch DC before they head back in for their meetings and submit his  _ feelings _ (ugh) to the American’s tender mercies.  It would be up to the young capital where to go from there.

His stomach took the opportunity to rumble in complaint, prompting London to realize he hadn’t actually eaten yet.  The thought of his stomach growling while he made his confession to DC was abhorrent, so he needed to fortify himself quickly as the lunch break was nearly over.  He thought he spotted a McDonald’s on the way over here.  ...It was awfully close to the UN building, however.  There was a chance he might run into some other capitals there.

Well, he’d just have to chance it.

A little bit more familiar with the setup than he cared to admit, London furtively purchased a filet o’fish meal.  Turning away from the counter, he looked around the restaurant for a seat.  That’s when his eyes caught  _ it. _

A shock of hot and cold washed over him simultaneously when he saw none other than DC and Ottawa awkwardly tangled up against each other over the table.  Locked in an embrace that was absolutely  _ not _ one would give to another acquaintance.  They were too close, their were faces touching-

The tray slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground.  Everyone stopped what they were doing, looking around for the source of the noise.  Before he knew what he was doing, he bolted for the door, terrified he’d been spotted.  

Then an all too familiar voice called after him.  “London!” he heard DC cry out over the human populace.  Like a  _ moron. _  “London, stop  _ running! _ ”

Did that fool not realize that he was projecting his secret all over the place?!

Putting a stop to this, London spun around to shut the American down.  Only for a large muscled body to knock him right off his feet.  He didn’t actually fall, DC’s arm wrapped tight around him to keep him from spilling to the floor.  Holding him too close, too  _ tight. _

“Stop screaming my name up and down the street, you twit!” London hissed at him, absolutely mortified.  He tried smacking the boy to let him go, his whole body heating up where it was pressed flush against the boy’s own.

“What the-” DC frowned, processing what he said.  Then he became distinctly  _ un _ sweet when he snapped back, “Oh,  _ plenty  _ of humans are named London.  Stop bitching.”  And he still refused to let him go!

A violent blush crawling up his neck, it took London a moment to realize what the boy just said.  “ _ Don’t call them humans! _ ” he cried, smacking the twit upside the head this time.

DC’s mouth opened as if to argue more, before he reconsidered it.  Finally, he released him, much to London’s relief.  Only to yank him into some dark building.  More than a little alarmed, the Brit struggled until DC shoved him to sit somewhere and his eyes were given a chance to adjust to the darkness of what looked like a pub.  However, DC still held his wrists trapped.  “Look,  _ calm down, _ ” the boy said, essentially shackling to his seat.  “ _ Stop it! _  Seriously, what is  _ with _ you?”

Really?  Did he  _ really _ just ask that?

“You  _ kidnapped _ me,” London spat, a low growl to his tone.  No  _ one _ absconded with him.   _ No one! _

The younger capital looked less than impressed.  “ _ Before that, _ ” DC insisted, his blue eyes burning.  “Why did you run?  And for that matter, why are you suddenly avoiding me?”

London fumed with righteous fury.  He was  _ planning _ to tell the boy in less than an hour!  However, after all this, he didn’t feel the least bit inclined to explain  _ anything. _

DC was about to continue, but stopped short when he sensed a human approach.  A waitress.  Well, at least he had  _ that _ much sense.  Reluctantly, the boy released his wrists so as to not cause a scene and said, “Coke please.  Lo-  _ Arthur _ , do you want anything?”

Once he was liberated, London debated fleeing for a half-second.  However, it would be incredibly undignified at this rate, so he settled for trying to smooth out the awful wrinkles in his suit.  Chin raised, he told the waitress sharply, “Whiskey.  Double.  Neat.”  His eyes flicked to her, waiting for her to leave earshot before he turned back to the American Idiot.

“I left because I did not want to interrupt your  _ moment _ with Ottawa,” he ground out, too shaken to disguise his utter contempt.  This wasn’t accurate in the least, but DC did not need to know he had simply panicked.  “I had no idea you were going to chase me down the street like a- a  _ common criminal _ ,” he added, leveling the full force of his infuriation in those two words.

DC, as ever, was oblivious.  Rather than chastised, he cocked his head in confusion.  “Moment?” he parroted.

Dear Lord, was he going to have to spell everything out for this boy?

Embarrassment creeped up his shoulders, flooding London’s pale skin with an unseemly blush.  “Your... in the...” he started, making a vague gesture with his hand.  It was incredibly difficult to speak when the boy’s blue eyes were boring into him like drills.  It was even more awkward to try to address the subject that he was trying to block out of his mind.  Finally, he got out: “McDonald's, just now.  It was far too friendly.”

A clack to his left alerted him to his drink.  Blessed,  _ blessed  _ alcohol.  Without hesitation, he took the tumbler and downed the entire thing in one swallow.  His throat burned and his eyes watered, but it had the instant and desired effect of dulling down his mortification.

DC’s confusion lingered, but now it was ebbed with a flicker of understanding.  “Wait...” he said, comprehension dawning.  Then his eyes widened in shock, “you think- me and Otto- seriously?!”

“It was obvious,” London replied, not entirely sure if DC was in denial.  He began listing off the _most_ obvious points on his fingers, “USA all but announced it when we first arrived.  Then when we confronted you, you didn't deny your closeness.  A-and then you gave the CronutsTM _I_ gave you to _him._ ”  Which still _enraged_ him.  “And next thing I know, I see the pair of you _embracing!_ ”

In any other circumstance, the slow transition of DC’s expressions from confused, to relieved, to disgusted and horrified would have been comical.  It occurred to London just  _ then  _ that it really shouldn’t have taken the boy this long to realize what he was talking about.  “Oh God!” DC nearly howled, as if London had just branded him.  “Are you kidding me?!  He's like my twin!  That's disgusting!”

....Oh.  Right then.  Right.  Then.

Like the flip of a switch, DC went from utterly oblivious to entirely too observant.  “Oh, oh, ew!  Don't tell me you've thought about it!” he demanded, somehow able to read the guilty thoughts in his mind.  “ _ Fantasized _ about it?!”

Wait.   _ What? _

“Th-that- don't be absurd!” London sputtered.  If he did harbour any thoughts about a  _ ménage à trois _ , it wouldn’t include  _ Ottawa. _  “And that's besides the point.  I'm not interested in real life threesomes.”

As DC blanched, he realized what he just said.  “Damn, you're way kinkier than I thought you were,” the young capital said in awe.  Which was an absolutely  _ outrageous _ thing to say to an English gentleman.   _ So  _ outrageous that London was unable to properly articulate just how outrageous it was as he protested with a series of useless false-started arguments.

“But Otto’s right about one thing,” DC mused, leaning his head against his palm.

“And what's that?” London demanded, simply not in the mood for the dolt’s antics anymore.  Nor for any more mention of the Canadian.

“You're kind of an idiot,” the American answered, a merry twinkle to his eye.  

Before he could even think to reply, DC roughly pulled the back of his neck and tugged him forward across the table.  London let out a faint, rather embarrassing, sound in shock when he realized that warm lips were pressed against his.  

And they  _ were _ like honey.

Sucking in a sharp breath, London leaned into it, taking in the full glory of that exceptionally talented mouth.  It was better than he could have imagined.  Warm and generous and full of  _ need _ .  How was it possible that he never sensed such ache in the lad before?

Once they had to pull back to breathe, he could hardly string his thoughts together.  Yet first  and foremost was,  _ why? _  “But... I don't understand,” London murmured.  There were...  _ reasons _ , a number of them, that made him think this was beyond his reach.  Yet it was difficult to pick them out as Washington did terribly distracting things with the buds of his fingertips against his palm.  It still didn’t quite click that Washington’s disinterest in Ottawa made him more or less available.  “I thought I was too old for you.”

Amused, DC replied, “Nah, makes you experienced.”

London raised an eyebrow.  “I'm a stuffy, irritable codger.”

“You're a dignified gentleman,” DC responded, mock affronted.

The Brit was rather starting to like this game.  “I've been told my eyebrows are too big.”

A shake of the head and a grin.  “Your eyebrows are adorable.”

At this, a thought that niggled at the back of his mind.  There was that moment he had so very obviously telegraphed his intent to the younger capital.  “...you didn't kiss me in front of my hotel,” he said at last, straightening up.

DC’s eyes widened, his mouth forming into a small ‘oh’.  Then he shook his head.  “Well, that's just unpardonable.   _ Unconscionable _ .  I need to do something about it.”

He did like where the boy was going with this.  “Such as?” he asked.

Smiling still, his new beau cupped his cheek and leaned in again to show him.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Ames, as in, New Amsterdam. New York’s original name. Could also be Amelia.  
> 2 Al, as in, LA - Los Angeles  
> 3 Nola, as in New Orleans, LA  
> 4 Holly, as in, Hollywood. (Yes, I know. Practically the same as LA.)
> 
> Also to explain a few things about the Washington/Congress relationship. Technically, DC is not a state. It is a federal city under the rule of Congress. Only very recently have they allowed DC to have a city council and to elect a mayor. However, Congress can override anything the city council puts forwards. (e.g. DC has been trying to enact gun control laws for ages, but Congress won't have it.) DC does not get a vote in Congress. (Hence the license plates 'Taxation without Representation'.) We do get three electoral votes for the president, but that's pretty much it. Also POTUS has absolutely nothing to do with running Washington itself. He's pretty much just a resident. Although, pretty much all the executive departments are around the DMV (DC, Maryland, Virginia area). And yes, the Pentagon is in Virginia. Arlington, VA actually.
> 
> Oh and fun fact! The last time Congress shut down the government, DC couldn’t get its trash picked up the entire time. -___-


End file.
